


Desperation

by Turnandfacethepaige



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Idk do love charms count as dub con?, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, smut in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turnandfacethepaige/pseuds/Turnandfacethepaige
Summary: Mephisto has been getting under Mordo's skin in a way he doesn't care to acknowledge. But maybe the demon has a point, and maybe, just maybe, Mordo's been denying something that he has much more interest than he thinks. How lucky is he that Mephisto is just the person he needs for this to become a reality?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for the Angst.  
> Also (since I doubt AO3 has this option) I'd like to gift this fic to pretty much everyone who helps make the Stordo ship afloat with fics and fan art. You're all amazing and I love being here.  
> Anf as a fyi if you steal my writing, I will find you and beat you with a large fish.

Mephisto had began to grow difficult as the weeks passed. The first time, it hadn’t been that difficult to forget, to brush off and continue his spells, the hunting and tracking of the sorcerers that had wandered the world outside Kamar-Taj. After all, Mordo had far more important things than the demon that was lurking behind him at every step, breathing sugar breath down the back of his spine. 

Such as getting as much power as he could before going after that troublesome little problem that was Stephen Strange.

The second time, as well, and the third, and even the fourth, Mordo found it easy to forget it and shrug off the question as though it was a robe that could be flung away when not needed and slipped back on when the time was appropriate. 

But when the demon started asking him the fifth time, when Mordo was slowly drinking soup out of a chipped white bowl, floating inches above the dusty tiled floor, it was when the slightest hint of worry began to crack into Mordo’s head.

And then the sixth time. And then the seventh time. And then the eighth, the ninth, the tenth, and then again and again, whenever he had breath to spare, whenever Mordo looked the slightest bit anxious or worried, whenever he rubbed the space between his eyebrows, Mephisto would glide across the floor, drape himself across his shoulders and murmur, soft as satin into his ears;

If I gave you Stephen, what would you do?

Mordo wasn’t stupid. Surprising, given what he was currently doing in a world where the Sorcerer Supreme was both alive and kicking as well as talented and smart enough to be able to figure out what Mordo was up to, he was well aware, but even he had been confused slightly the first time he had been asked. It had shown on his face, and Mephisto had seen it, and his beautiful face had cracked into a leering grin, and he whispered, taunting and smug;

I’m talking about urges, Mordo. You know, those things you get when your bed is just a little bit too big, and the night is just a little bit too hot.

Ah. That. The saucy stuff. The stuff that grown-ups did when the kids were in bed when the lights were off. The stuff of - well. Certainly not something that Mordo had time for when he was trying to steal magic.

Mordo hadn’t even thought of it before Mephisto had started suggesting it. In fact, prior to meeting Stephen, Mordo had a clear, if not down right clinical view of that sort of thing; done (lights off, of course) quickly, with as limited talking as possible, and as little eye-contact needed, and, as he jokingly told Wong whenever this sort of topic was breached in Kamar-Taj, if needed be, they could both turn their backs on each other for a little cry when it was all over before shaking hands and going on their own ways.

It was always so simple back then, back before an idiot with halcyon eyes and a velvet voice had barged his way in and ruined pretty much all his ideas. Now he didn’t know what to think.

Now he didn’t know if he wanted to accept that offer.

But Mephisto had been right. He struggled in the days when the loneliness and isolation hit him hard, aching for the sunny days of Kamar-Taj and bantering with Stephen as they traded stories and sparred in the open courtyard under the Ancient One’s cool gaze. If anything, for someone to just be standing next to him, talking to him even, it didn’t need to be anything more than that. Anything better than the dead eyes of the hovering, beautiful demon, and the echoing silence that followed him around like the plague. 

Mephisto was strong. Stronger than Mordo cared to pay attention to, and not just in the way of opening holes to different dimensions and allowing Mordo a peep through. He had a gift of spells and enchantments that Mordo didn’t even know existed. Spells and potions and magick and stuff from down in the depths of hell that he had been born into, and the shocking highs of the heavens above him, and all the width of the places and planets in-between that. 

Getting Mordo to Stephen without Stephen’s knowledge was a piece of cake to him.

It was tempting. Not just to satiate the loneliness, but - well. To satiate the warmth Mordo wanted. Of heat and flesh. Of strong, tanned arms and a medical touch. Mordo had begun to daydream of that more than he wanted to acknowledge, to daydream of what could happen, what would happen if he finally got a chance to have Stephen right where he wanted him, and not just in the sense of kicking the ever-loving shite out of him after his stupidity with Dormammu. 

Of disgusting, pathetic, wet things. Like waking up next to him in the morning, wearing each other’s shirts, making him pancakes and asking about his day. Of slow dancing in darkened rooms as rain pattered against the windows to good music, of old stories and magic. Showering together, having dinner together and holding hands as they walked together. Of a life he could have had. Of a love he could have had. Of Stephen and him - happy and safe and in love.

Absolutely pitiful. 

He was curious though. Not about that, of course, although to be fair, since Mordo had always had a soft spot for the romantic in him (he blamed the vast collection of romance novels in the library of his family castle, which he had read only because wouldn’t it be such a shame to let all those books go unread?), maybe it wasn’t surprising that he had always longed for something like a nice, normal relationship with somebody. He was curious about Mephisto. 

Why would Mephisto care about him and Stephen? Why would Mephisto even bother asking him if he wanted to try something remotely physical with Stephen? 

Maybe it was something about control. He’d heard some stories about how doing - uh - certain things with or for powerful demons could lead to them have a greater amount of control to exert over you. He seriously doubted it was because Mephisto cared about him. The only thing that demon cared about was power, and where he was going to be able to get a lot of it for the least amount of effort. 

To be fair, that didn’t seem out of line with Mephisto’s line of thinking. He had already latched himself onto Mordo, after Mordo had accidentally unleashed him from the dimension he had been locked in for decades when he stumbled on some strange books in the office of a sorcerer in Wales, because he knew Mordo wanted help getting magic. Now he must have figured out that the part of Mordo that wanted Stephen was still alive and well, and the little cogs inside his head had began to whirr and buzz with a brilliant idea. Mordo would need help (and magic) to get hold of Stephen - magic which Mephisto could provide.

Magic that would require a price.

But it was unlikely that the price would be his soul or something as drastic as that. The amount of times Mordo had had to hear Mephisto whine about not having a physical body to live in had driven him insane. Mephisto had also handily mentioned that if given a physical body, it meant he was able to actually focus more on his magic, as he wouldn’t be so bummed up trying to focus on floating around after Mordo. What with all the magic he was draining from sorcerers and leaving helpless, weak bodies behind him, the chances of getting somebody for Mephisto was easy.

So he could pay off the cost. But all that did was leave the question of whether Mordo actually wanted this or not, or whether it was because Mephisto never seemed to shut up or because Mordo had urges that being on his own at night couldn’t solve. He had told himself it wasn’t true. Told himself to focus less on his own selfish desires and more on useful things, like possible world domination.

But it was true.

Mordo did want Stephen. Wanted to know him deep, deep down. Wanted to know what made him laugh, what made him cry, or shiver with anticipation. Wanted to know what made him indifferent, and what made him look up and pay attention. Mordo wanted to know what pushed him forward and what held him back and locked him up inside, wanted to hear his heart beat pound within his chest and hear the sound of breathing, slow and lulled with sleep, of the skin of his neck, pale and bare, winking at him from the opposite side of the bed. Of the intimacy of saying his name like a prayer, the feeling of skin against skin, as delicate as the inside of a wrist.

Want was a strong word. But it was strong enough for Mordo to know what it meant for him.

*

They were in the kitchen of the apartment they had gotten hold of only the day before from some sorcerer Mordo had tracked down to Los Angeles and who was currently lying comatose in the basement, drained of magic and tied up with duct tape.

He had made some pancakes for himself and for Mephisto he had put together a bowl of milk and cream with an unholy amount of sugar chucked in for good measures. Perched on the bar stools of the woman’s kitchen table, he watched Mephisto slurp the thing up like the creepiest cat he’d ever encountered, half floating off the kitchen floor as he lapped it up with his long, snake-like tongue, splashing a few drops of milk on the clean tiles as he did so.

Mordo mustered himself to ask the question, straightening himself and cleaning his face of any emotions or underlying thoughts. To keep a calm, respectful distance from the demon was probably the best course of action at this point in time, and if Mephisto started to get too friendly or too crude, he would simply shut him down and turn back to his pancakes and pretend like he hadn’t heard what Mephisto had just said. It was easier than it sounded, what with the way his heart raced beneath his skin in nervous eagerness, and the way his hands gripped his fork just a little too tightly.

There was a loud sucking sound, similar to the one that a plug hole makes when you let the bathwater drain down it, and Mephisto was leaning back in mid-air, wrapping his hands around his bloated, round belly, full and with a lazy smile.

Christ, Mordo found himself thinking as he stared at his stomach, he didn’t think he had put that much sugar in the milk. It wasn’t even a big portion. 

That could wait another day. He had more important issues than a demon stuffing himself.

He said, in a voice that was surprisingly calm for the tremors that wracked his hands, ‘What would it take for you to get hold of him?’

Mephisto swivelled hooded eyes at him and asked in a voice that echoed and rang in the small kitchen with the sound of a thousand voices, What are you referring to this time?

Mordo replied, ‘Stephen. Your little offer for him.’

It was as though a little switch had gone off inside his head. Mephisto’s eyes lit up with surprise and (worryingly) a sleek greed. He floated closer to Mordo, facing him, and his dark eyes scanned him up and down, a small grin beginning to grow on his fanged mouth. 

You’re finally interested. he said gloatingly. 

Mordo swallowed the anxious lump and straightened himself up further.

‘I’m curious,’ he said firmly, ‘And I want to know if it’s at all possible for one to do something like what you said.’

Mephisto grinned a smile as wide as a machete glinting in moonlight. It’s possible alright, Mordo. It’s possible, undeniable, and yours for the taking.

‘You could get me to Stephen Strange.’

I could get you to Stephen Strange and much, much more.

Mordo tried to ignore the leer that ended that sentence and asked, his voice still clear and calm as the first drop of sweat began to run down his back at the uncomfortable grin on Mephisto’s face. ‘What would it take for you to do it?’

A few spells. A few chants. A couple of movements - here Mephisto waggled his fingers at Mordo as began to drift away to the top of the ceiling - And then it’s all done. And then Stephen Strange is yours to do with as you please.

Mordo’s gaze followed Mephisto to the light fitting and he put his knife and fork down as he watched him begin to wind himself round the cover of it. ‘This won’t come free, will it?’

Mephisto giggled. Clever little one, aren’t you Mordo?

Mordo ignored him, pressed him further. ‘What do you want as payment?’

Mephisto knotted his hands under his chin, smiling down like a hideous Cheshire Cat 

I want a body, Mordo. I want a place to stay in.

So Mordo had been right then to suspect he wanted something to possess. How lucky was it that he had a half-dead sorcerer just lying handily around in the basement? Much luckier was the fact that Mordo was strong enough to allow a possession spell to take place, with or without a person’s consent to it. 

Mordo met his gaze steadily as his heart pounded with excitement, and anxious joy bloomed in his stomach. ‘I can get that for you easily.’

His eyes may have deceived him in the moments of excitement, but Mordo could have sworn Mephisto’s smile got bigger, almost splitting his face into two. 

Then we have nothing else to worry about.

He slowly floated back down to Mordo’s level. All we need to do now is find out where he is -

‘New York.’ Mordo replied without even hesitating. ‘He’s in New York in his apartment.’

Mephisto hesitated slightly, a look of slight worry corrupting his eery grin. Do I even want to know how you know that?

‘Uh.’ Mordo said uselessly.

Mephisto shook his head. Forget about it, lover boy. Either way, you have it bad. But now that we know he’s there, all we have to do is give Stephen a little something and get you in there, and then you can have all the fun you want.

Mordo pushed away his now cold and forgotten pancakes. ‘Define a “little something”.’

Mephisto said smugly, A love charm. Something that’ll let his guard down for a little while. Totally harmless, he added quickly, bringing his hands up in reassurance at Mordo’s shocked look, And totally painless. He won’t even remember getting it in, and by the end of it, he’ll think it’s all a dream. A weird, very explicit and weirdly sexual dream.

Mordo felt a tiny pang of disappointment at that. He wanted Stephen to be able to remember it, for Stephen to recognise it as what it was as they - uh - did stuff. He didn’t want some drugged, useless knock off of Stephen instead of the real deal. However, times were hard for Mordo’s only recently burgeoning love life, so he’d just have to take what he got unless something changed for him in the future.

That left the other question.

‘How exactly are you going to get me in there? Stephen’s probably going to have his guard up at all times for anything remotely magical. He could have spells up that would alert him if someone came into his apartment.’

Mephisto slowly floated down, bit by bit, until his face was inches away from Mordo’s, and his endless, bottomless eyes glittered and flashed before his eyes.

Don’t worry about that, Mordo, he leered, I’m getting you in the back door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mordo had to admit, this was just getting weirder and weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you've all been waiting for, everyone brace yourselves, here it comes.  
> Steal my writing and I'll jump out your fridge and hit you with a large fish.

Mordo had to admit, this was just getting weirder and weirder.

He was currently squatting in a storage closet in the hallway of Stephen's apartment complex, and had been for the past hour and a half, surrounded by mops and a bucket that smelled sour and musty. The two swords he usually carried hidden in his sleevs had proved too difficult to handle whilst stuck in a place that was too small to swing a cat in, and he'd been forced to hide them away in the gap in the wall of the apartment he'd been hiding out in. So now here he was, weaponless, in a tiny closet and about to (possibly) meet up and do unspeakable things with the Sorcerer Supreme.

Mephisto had vanished as soon as they'd arrived at the complex. He had been the one to cast the portal to get them to the building, sneaking Mordo up through the back entrance and up the stairs before pointing at te closet and telling him in no certain words to get in it, and stay in it unless he wanted something strange and unpleasant to hapen to him, because as much as Mephisto was grateful for getting a new body and a place alongside someone who had the same dream of power and destruction of sorcerers, he had made it extremely clear he wasn't in any way shape or form going to get his backside handed to him by the Sorcerer Supreme because Mordo had a boner that wouldn't quit on him.

He'd gone before Mordo had had a chance to try and tell him that he didn't have a boner that didn't quit, and that he was most definetly exaggerating a lot of what he was saying. Although, considering the way Mephisto's eyes had glittered and glowed with a sick joy when he had finally been forced into the body of the woman Mordo had stolen magic from, maybe Mordo was lucky enough to not have opened his mouth and said something he'd regret.

Sighing, Mordo drew his legs to his chest and tapped his knee with his fingers. He always wondered if it had been obvious he had a - well - THING for Stephen. It could have started out as a kind of puty, or even some tiny fragment of remorse for the scruffy, washed up genius who had scrounged pitilessly around the streets of Nepal as he sought out a remedy Or maybe it was one of those teacher-student bonds that grew over time. He remembered the warmth of pride as he watched Stephen grow stronger, learn, develop and ultimately change into a new man before his eyes as he studied at Kamar-Taj. The little pang of joy he had felt when he saw a cleaner, healthier Stephen trotting along to the library, books stacked in his hands as he went off in search of new knowleged. Maybe it was because Stephen was like Mordo when he had first come to Kamar-Taj - miserable and desperate for something to keep him afloat and awake in the bloody darkness that haunted his every step.

Or maybe it had been an accent thing. He had a very nice accent. Deep and smooth, like the depths of an ocean.

Mordo's internal monologue ended when Mephisto suddenly stuck his head through the wooden door of the storage closet, grinning at him.

'Alright, lover boy, you ready to have some fun?'

His voice, still sounding like a thousand voices speaking at once from within a cave, rippled across Mordo's skin, and he scrambled to his feet in his eagerness. Mephisto cackled at him.

It creeped him out no end what Mephisto was doing to that woman's face. The skin was stretched, gaunt and waxy across her facial bones, and the huge purple bags under her eyes hinted at the glittering insanity that was Mephisto that hit, monstrous and hungry, beneath her fleshly exterior. Mephisto was one creepy bastard, alright. Mordo was beginning to realise with a hesitant unease that there may have been a legitimate reason as to why he had been sealed away for so long in that dimension, far, far away from mankind.

He pushed the door open, slipping into the silent corridor, waiting until Mephisto floated out and landed on the floor beside him and heading off down the corridor to Stephen's apartment. It was the third one. It wasn't that difficult to find, given few people lived in this expensive building. That and it also had a handy little sign saying "Dr Stephen Strange" written above the doorbell to the apartment.

Mordo took a breath. The palpitations were starting up again, and when he clenched his fists, he could feel the sweat that slicked them up. He wasn't nervous or anything. He wasn't nervous at all, thank you very much.

Just - Just -

Scared.

A tiny bit. A teensy, tiny bit that refused to rear its head any further than it had to.

It wasn't like Stephen would reject him, Mordo thought desperatley as Mephisto began to chant something high and Germanic at the door. It wasn't like Stephen could anyways. He would just go in, have a bit of fun for five minutes, and then get the hell out of there.

Sigils and patterns were beginning to glow and burn into the wood of the door, glowing with a green heat, and Mordo realised that this was it. No turning back now. No way to reverse this.

A glitter like a heatwace began to bubble in the centre of the door, growing wider and wider as Mephisto chanted on and on, until a nice, decent sized hole had emerged from the wood, big enough for Mordo to crawl through. The edges crackled and spat with a magic that Mordo had never seen before.

Mephisto shoved him forward and Mordo stumbled.

'It's time pretty boy,' he leered. 'You go and have your fun.'

Mordo nodded, trembling and beginning to put his right foot through the hole.

'It'll open when you want it to,' Mephisto continued, 'All you have to do is to come to the door when you're finished, and it'll let you out and close up again.'

Mordo nodded again, shoving his shoulder through the hole, deciding he felt to sick with nerves to truly be able to give a decent reply.

Suddenly, Mephisto was at his back and with a hard shove, Mordo went straight through the hole and slammed face first into the floor of Stephen's apartment.

He turned to look around and saw the portal had vanished. The door looked as sturdy as ever, glowing softly in the light that came from behind him.

The apartment was big. The full length windows poured in a view of the streets, of the lights of passing cars and yellow lights from skyscrapers full of people desperate to go home. It was a nice place, as luxurious as a neuroscientist could afford, and full of browns and darker colours that felt warm and welcoming to Mordo, who was currently trying to rationalise what exactly he was doing.

It was big. But Mordo had seen bigger. Besides, there were more important things to find right now than admire Stephen's view.

Like admiring the view from Stephen's bed. Preferly the view of Stephen, stretched out before him, softly moaning and crying out for him. Or of Stephen on top of him, hair falling into his eyes, gasping as he gripped Mordo's thighs and thrust his hips a little harder, a little more desperately.

Come to think of it, Mordo thought as he crept up the staircase, which would he prefer? Stephen moaning around him, or Stephen rutting into him?

Oh decisions, decisions, the luxury of choice.

He'd figure it out. He had all the time in the world tonight.

There was a cough from a room to Mordo's left and he froze. The cough came again and Mordo felt his skin heat in anticipation.

Stephen.

It had to be his room. 

He began to sneak towards it, shoes squeaking the slightest on the panelled floor, and slowly, carefully, cracked ipen the door the tiniest bit.

It was Stephen. Standing beside the bed in a fading band shirt and plaid pyjamas, looking at his hands deliriously, staring dumbfounded at the scars running the back of his fingers, oblivious to the eyes that watched him from the doorway.

Mordo took a breath and pushed open the door.

Mordo had always been aware of his height in comparison to Stephen's. Stephen hit over the six foot mark whilst Mordo, a couple inches below him, could only imagine what that height did for you when the time came to stand strong and stare head-on at the person before you. But now, now as he stood in Stephen's doorway, silhouetted against the darkness of the corridor outside him and the warmth of the lamp within the bedroom, Mordo had never felt more stronger, more present than anywhere else. He could feel the way Stephen had to take him in, waver under the undeniable force of his presense.

Mordo felt like a god before him. 

Stephen blinked at him with warm eyes, mouth opening slightly, a pretty pink flush running through his cheeks.

The two looked at each other, neither making the first move, and for a second, Mordo though that maybe Mephisto's magic hadn't been strong enough and any minute now, Stephen was going to be chasing after him with something large and pointy and Mordo was going to have to jump through the sodding door before he could get the crap kicked out of him.

But Stephen opened his mouth and said, low and awestruck, and almost heartbreaking in the way it came out a question, 'M-Mordo?'

Mordo didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He could tear his eyes away from him, from his eyes, his curly hair, the jut of his collar bone beneath his shirt, the cream of his pale neck and the way his whole posture had straighted up in what could have been shocked delight when Mordo had pushed the door open.

Stephen tried to take a step, almost tripped on the carpet, raised his hands to Mordo, shaking and twitching in painful awe and whispered, like a weak, helpless child, 'Why - why are you here?'

Mordo stepped into the room, the anxiety beginnning to dissipate and a wonderful pride taking its pace as he saw the way Stephen's grew and his mouth dropped a little when Mordo spoke to him.

'Why else would you think I was here?'

Stephen audibly swallowed, his tongue coming out to lick his lips, and he replied, 'I - I thought you hated me. I thought you never wanted to see me again after Hong Kong.'

Ah. Hong Kong. That was a painful reminder indeed. Mordo hadn’t been able to see Stephen’s reaction as he walked away from him and Wong - only saw the flinch and shock begin to dawn on his face when he had announced he was walking away from him. He had never imagined Stephen had cared for him, or that Stephen had missed him, given the fact that Stephen hadn’t chased after him - hadn’t even bothered to call after him or even try and plead with him.

But now - now as he stood in front of him, Stephen kneeled on the carpet before him, he saw the look of wonderment and joy on his face - the look of a blind man finally seeing the sunrise for the first time in his life.

Mordo slowly knelt down until he was the same level as Stephen, eyes meeting his, could see the way his pulse jumped and shuddered under the skin of his throat, could feel the heat of him radiating from under his thin shirt and saw the way his skin flushed prettily under his gaze, and Mordo felt the flush of heat under his own clothing, rising from his core.

Stephen opened his mouth, and Mordo was so close now he could hear the faint breath he took in and let out, could see the flicker of his pupils as they dilated, before Stephen whispered, broken and beautiful and heartbroken, ‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’

Yes - a dream. A wonderful dream after so many months of searching, questioning himself and what he really wanted.

‘Yes.’ Mordo murmured. He was inching closer, smirked in the fact that Stephen was frozen on the spot, too stupefied to move. ‘But, tell me, Stephen,’ and he reached out and place his hand on top of Stephen’s, feeling the contrast between the rough skin of the back of his hands and the slick smoothness of the scars above cracked bones, ‘Do you want to wake up from this?’

Stephen swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and Mordo could smell the sweat on him. 

‘No.’ he croaked.

Mordo was inches from his face, so close that Stephen’s eyes looked almost crossed when he made eye contact, and he smiled, feeling warmth blossom in his chest.

‘Then why what are you waiting for?’ he asked him. And he kissed him.

Stephen’s mouth was full and soft under his, slicked with saliva, and tasted of toothpaste and something sweet and like hibiscus - a love charm.

Stephen hesitated for a moment, but then he opened his mouth to Mordo, and that was all he needed to push forward.

He swiped his tongue forward into his mouth, brushing his tongue and dragging it back out against Stephen’s plump bottom lip, wrapped his hands around Stephen’s neck, felt the pulse rocket beneath his touch, felt Stephen wrap his hands around his shoulders, and he just kissed him, kissed him, kissed him.

It was all Mordo had expected and all he had wanted. The warmth of his skin, the closeness of his touch, the feeling of Stephen all around him. The two of them, clutching at each other, just them and nobody else.

He pushed Stephen gently, and Stephen laid back down on the ground easily. He spread his legs and Mordo nestled himself between them, rutting against him, pushing and surging forward until his chest was atop Stephen’s.

Mordo pulled away, a string of salvia trailing between their lips, and stared down at Stephen’s flushed, pink cheeks and his swollen, pink lips, a small, steady throb beginning to pulsate between his legs. Glancing down, he smiled when he saw the small tent beginning to emerge in the middle of his pyjama bottoms.

Mordo managed to spit out only one word. ‘Bed.’

Nodding dumbly, Stephen stumbled to his feet, reaching out for Mordo and leading him to it. Mordo grabbed his arm, pushed him until the edge of the mattress met the backs of his knees, let him tumble onto the bed, and (after removing his shoes and socks with a speed that surprised him) promptly falling after him.

This was it. This was it - this was all he had been thinking about for the past two days, of the months stuck in Kamar-Taj up in the mountains, watching him grow stronger and stronger, grow better. There is nothing more precious in this world than the luxury of watching somebody change for the good before your own eyes.

Mordo reached for Stephen’s shirt, lifted it off him, making stretch out his frame against the bed, felt his mouth water at the miles of milky, marble skin that rose up in front of his eyes. A David made in flesh, lying flushed and pink and swollen right in front of him, and he could HAVE him.

Reaching out, Mordo ran his hand down his chest, down his stomach, tracing the barely-there outline of the muscles that lurked there under his skin, before reaching the waistband of his pyjamas and the jut of his hips as they curved into them. 

Slowly, tantalisingly, Mordo pulled them down to Stephen’s thighs and off his legs, dropping them off the bed and onto the carpet. He ran his hands up his thighs, thick and strong beneath his touch, the muscle hard beneath his touch, pillars of ivory before him, cradling the flesh that stretched out around him, gently pushing his legs apart to nestle between them. His length lay hard and flushed against his stomach. 

Mordo reached down and unzipped his trousers, grateful he'd listened to Mephisto when he'd told Mordo to ditch the robes and switch to something less conspicuous. He slid his trousers off and carefully dropped them off the side of the bed, mentally reminding himself where they were. He unded his shirt, button by button, pride flaring warm in his stomach as he saw Stephen's blown, glossy eyes widen in hopeful anticipation as every inch of his skin was revelaed to him, the shirt joining his trousers, leaving him clad in only his boxers.

He had barely reached for the waistband when Stephen's hands, trembling, rhough and warm against his skin, pressed to his stomach, fingertips curling around the edge of the elastic . 

Gazing up with puppy-dog-eyes, Stephen croaked, 'Let me.'

Mordo couldn't take his eyes away from him, watched as Stephen lowered his pants, freeing himself. Stephen opened his mouth, shut it. Looked up at Mordo. Waiting.

And who was Mordo to make him wait?

He shuffled as he took off his underwear, letting it drop to the floor with his clothes. A summoning spell would take care of what little else they would need. It wasn't like Mordo had bottles of lube on him and could take with him - and for some reason he dounbted Stephen would have any on him either. He brought his hand down to Stephen's groin and focused on lube - a strange thought if ever there was one really - on the texture, the temperature of it on his hands, of it being pulled here, to his fingertips.

A cold wetness spread betweenhis fingers, and Stephen's small whimper confirmed that he'd brought it through. Slowly, carefully, he rubbed Stephen, spreading it across him, preeing at the little moans he pulled from him.

He let go and slicked himself up before lowering himself to Stephen, flesh to flesh, groaning as he pressed against him. Below him, Stephen moaned, reached up and pressed his hands to his shoulders.

Then Mordo moved his hips, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Mephisto, the Ancient One, all the things that had chased him across the world paled against what lay below Mordo, gasping and writhing with every movement and jerk. stephen, clutching him close, smearing kisses to his neck and gasping was Shangri-La, and Mordo was chasing after him, hands outstretched for Paradise. He could have spent eternity like this, holding Stephen, feeling te heat radiate from him, hearing him, tasting the tang of salt on Stephen's tongue.

This was too fake, too perfect, Mordo knew, knew and it burn with every gasp from Stephen, but it was all he had - all he could ever have.

He would never get this again. Every ounce of bravery and sleek pride from before had burned away with the knowledge of this, and if he held Stephen a little too tightly, moaned against flished skin too loud, he pushed it down and ignored it.

'Mordo.' Stephen groaned.

'Mordo.' Stephen whimpered.

'Mordo.' Stephen cried.

It was too quick. Over too fast. One quick twist of his wrist, a gasp, a choke - which was Stephen's, which his he couldn't tell - and then it was done. Stephen fell back against the pillows, eyes drooping, struggling to keep open, gasps hitching his chest. 

Mordo lay on top of him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, breath returning to normal as Stephen's heart raced beneath him. He'd had his fun. Now he knew what to do.

Time to go.

He peeled himself off Stephen, slowly, not wanting to leave the warmth of his skin. He reached down the side of the bed for his clothes, wiping his damp fingers on the duvet as he did so. There was a shuffle, Stephen struggling, trying to sit up, head lolling with clear exhaustion. That was a benefit to love charms. Once the desired act had been enacted, the charmed felt only exhaustion, the desire to curl up and sleep until daylight, where they'd wake to no memories of what happened under the love charm 

Mordo wanted him to remember. But Mordo always wanted too much.

He watched Mordo put his clothes back on, Mordo feeling something cold and miserable pooling in his stomach, washing out all the warmth of before. As he reached for his shoes, Stephen spoke.

'Where're you g-going?' he voice sounded as though he could barely stay awake.

Mordo didn't face him. Couldn't face him. Couldn't see his face wracked with blissful sleep whilst Mordo ached inside. Without a word, he rested a hand on his ankle, felt magic flare in his wrist. There was a soft thud of head on pillow, and then only his breathing, soft and slow.

Mordo stood up, got to the door, switched off the lights, closed the dor, went down the stairs, as though he was some machine, moving without thought or consent. Shutting doors and turning off lights as though he'd never been there in the first place.

A few hours, and this was all he felt. This raging sea within him that churned endlessly. Not even a smattering of happiness - only some miserable, hysterical sadness that bloomed inside him, thick and sickly, that seemed endlessly hungry, never satisfied, never changing. Never leaving.

This misery had no sign of stopping, of leaving him. Of setting him free.

He got to the door, passing through it just like Mephisto said, stepped outside and heard the crackle of wood setting back into place.

What now then?

Mephisto. Find him. Get out of here.

He looked to his left. He almost jumped out of his skin.

Mephisto sat there, crouched in the hallway, eyes shining like moons in the dark, smiling the awful, awful smile of a wolf who had spotted a plump little lamb right in time for tea.

He leered at Mordo, who stood frozen in place. 'Had fun, pretty boy?'

Mordo tried to speak, but that smile tore up at him, made the hairs on his neck stand up. Nothing good came from a smile like that.

For the first time, Mordo began to think that when Mephisto had lied when he'd said he only needed a body.

Mepisto unfolded himself and floated across to Mordo, forehead to forehead, grinning, his face cracked with insanity.

'Come on, lover boy,' he said. 'We've got stuff to do.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't updated this fic in ages because I had really bad writers block and exams, but I've finally finished and I'm pretty pleased with myself :D.   
> I made Mephisto get a body in this fic because I realised that whenever he spoke in my previous fics, he spoke in italics, which always showed up in my fics as I wrote them, but never on Ao3 when I published them and it's kind of irritating. I'll try and recitfy this!  
> This is my first time writing this sort of thing, so if it sounds really weird that's because I'm still not sure how this sort of thing goes. Thank you so much to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos to all my other fics, you're wonderful and I love you all.  
> I have a tumblr! Come and check me out at turn-and-face-the-paige


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been two months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zenkitty555 - You've left me the nicest and most supporting comments ever since I posted my first fic on here, and you write more for this fandom and this ship than I ever could. This is for you, and I hope you like it :)

It had been two months.

Two months since he had been with Stephen, and all hell had gone from bad to worse, to even worse than that.

He’d been sneaking around the streets, as he was wont to do these days, his cloak covering his face, skulking amongst the shadows, when he had seen a flash of red and gold and white streaking along the skyline, followed closely by a blur of red and blue. Kamar-Taj may have been out of touch with the world, but Mordo sure as hell wasn’t, and he could have recognised the armour of Tony Stark from a mile away. Science and magic didn’t mix - or at least, Mordo didn’t want to be the first one to try and make it, so he had scurried along, dipping into an alleyway to catch a better look and see how screwed he was if Stark turned around.

Stark had touched down, followed a few seconds later by what appeared to be a person dressed entirely in spandex, and gesturing over to someone out of Mordo’s sight. Mordo couldn’t see any big guns, or any big ships, and had decided to sod off, when a glowing circle began to appear.

And then Stephen was there, standing before Stark, and Mordo’s blood ran to ice.

From where he was, he could see Stephen looked exhausted, inky smudges underneath his sleepy looking eyes, gloved hands fidgeting on his robes, cheekbones slanted in his pale face, and Mordo felt his heart break.

Two months to get over him. Two seconds to fall all over again.

So he had gone, dumbly making his way back to the hideout, his mind running wild with memories of Stephen, naked alabaster under Mordo’s hands, strong thighs spreading open for him, pink mouth swollen with moans, breath hitching in his chest just for him.

Mordo had gotten home and put his jacket up, taken his boots off, and fallen onto the sofa, eyes wide and mind blank. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He certainly didn’t know what to feel anymore.

A tiny part of him dimly thought that this was kind of like running into an old ex. Except Stephen wasn’t an ex. He had never been anything to begin with. All Mordo had done was fuck him whilst he was drugged out his mind on a love spell. And that was nothing by anyone’s standards.

Mordo was aware of a faint swishing sound, a soft wind hissing by his ear. He glanced over and saw, to no surprise, that Mephisto was floating through the wall, looking as bored as usual, and floating upwards towards the ceiling.

‘Back are we?’ he asked, rolling onto his back and floating along the length of the ceiling. ‘You weren’t out for long.’

Mordo didn’t say anything.

Above his head, Mephisto groaned.

‘Did you find anything?’ - and when Mordo still didn’t reply - ‘You know, if you want to try and get some more magic and find some more sorcerers, you’re going to need to get your act together. Sitting around like a muppet isn’t going to achieve anything.’

Mordo found his voice and said, cold and low, ‘I want a word with you.’

Mephisto looked surprised at the tone, but obeyed, drifting downwards, looking at Mordo through slitted, calculating eyes.

‘What do you want now?’

He was so busy giving him a one-over, he hadn’t noticed Mordo slip out the small dagger he kept hidden up his sleeve. By the time he had noticed, it was too late, and Mordo had him pinned to the floor, dagger to his throat, and fist curled in his hair.

Mordo hissed, ‘I want a deal.’

Mephisto said, ‘You what?’

Mordo pressed the blade harder into his throat and Mephisto began to speak quickly.

‘Okay! Okay! You want a deal. What do you want me to do?’

Mordo had to congratulate himself on that. Mephisto had been acting like he had the upper hand ever since he had made him his offer of Stephen, but for now, he had Mephisto right where he wanted him.

Mordo hissed, ‘I want Stephen.’

Mephisto hissed right back, ‘I already gave you Stephen, you ungrateful-‘

Mordo dug the blade in until blood began to envelop the metal and Mephisto’s retort died into a gurgle in his throat. He leaned forward until his nose pressed into his and snarled, ‘ ** _I want Stephen_**.’

Mephisto wasn’t stupid enough to want to hear it a third time. He gurgled, ‘H-how?’

Mordo bit back the bile in his throat, the bitter anger at what he was forced to do, the humiliation of all of this, and said, ‘There’s a spell. You can use it to change one’s appearance.’

He didn’t need to say any more. Mephisto’s worried look warped into something smug and terrible within seconds. A smile as wide as the moon spread itself across his pale face.

‘Oh, Mordo,’ he whispered, and Mordo felt his guts twist under that look, felt a tiny shiver run up his spine, ‘Oh, lover boy, you really are desperate aren’t you?’

Mordo felt too humiliated to reply.

  
**

That had been three hours ago, and now Mephisto was grunting above his trembling legs, the mask of Stephen Strange worn across his body and face lie he was the man, as realistic as if he was there before him.

Mordo’s hands knotted like talons against the bedsheets, his knuckles glaring white against the back of his skin as he dug onto it for dear life. Not that it was bad. But because he had to resist reaching out and holding onto him, running his hands up Stephen’s strong thighs and slanted hipbones, trail his hans across his stomach and up his chest, dance his fingers across the just of collar and cheek and jawbone, cradle Stephen as he bounced on his crotch.

Because if he did reach out, he’d be met with the cold, gritty skin of Mephisto. Because within the first two seconds, he’d reached out, desperate for the contact he craved, to feel the man he so desperately wanted, and felt himself recoil at how cold, how disturbingly like granite it was, no matter how realistic it looked.

It had taken Mephisto another ten minutes to get his dick back up after that, and Mordo had settled to digging his hands into the sheets to ensure he didn’t try anything again.

It was good. No, not good; pretty damn fantastic. The squelching heat that encased him, rolling up and down in fluid, slick strokes, the weight of the body on top of his, the hands that had come up and tweaked his nipples with the long, elegant fingers of a brain surgeon, the whines and groans that were in Stephen’s voice, came from Stephen’s face - it made Mordo’s eyes roll in his head, and made a burning, delicious pressure build in his groin.

It was almost what he was looking for.

Almost. Because no matter how realistic he looked, it was only just a spell of Stephen. Underneath his face was Mephisto, and through Stephen’s halcyon eyes, Mephisto watched Mordo writhe and come undone, watched him weakly gasp and thrust his hips up into him.

Sex with a demon always came with a consequence, any fool knew that. Mordo had been taught the usual price was a soul. His or somebody else’s, but probably his.

Something told him that this time, he wouldn’t need to pay anything.

Mephisto bounced, Stephen’s thighs flexing in the dim light of the room, and Stephen’s voice hummed, low and rich across the room.

‘Is this good enough for you?” he asked, batting his eyelids down at Mordo.

Mordo choked. He hadn’t expected that. He’d always had a thing for Stephen’s voice - the deep baritone that he could feel rumble deep in his chest if he stood close to him. Maybe Mephisto knew.

From the gleam in Stephen’s eyes, and the crooked smirk that followed, it appeared he sure as hell did.

Stephen’s hands rested on his chest, getting a grip, and began to bounce in earnest, riding Mordo like he was trying to thrust him down into the mattress.

‘I want this to feel good for you,’ he breathed, in Stephen’s voice, ‘As good as it feels for me.’

Mordo moaned, high and whining, his hands digging into the sheets until it hurt. Sweat was beginning to run down his temple, into the pillow. He was a sucker for dirty talk. Only if it was aimed at him - he never had a lot of success trying to do it to anyone else.

But god _fuck_ , it may not have been Stephen, but for all he could pretend, Stephen was sitting on his dick, moaning breathily, gasping at how good it was. It took every ounce of strength to not grab his hips, pin him down on his back, and fuck him long and hard until Stephen cried and he couldn’t walk properly the next day - wanted to dig his teeth into his collar bone and suck until it became purple under his tongue, bite his lips and nibble them until they were swollen, scarlet with teeth marks, grip his dick and stroke it until Stephen cried and lick the tears off his face and listen as Stephen begged and begged to cum, to please, please, please let him cum, _please Mordo, oh god, **please** -_

But he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t Stephen.

Because Mordo had been too shy, too stupid to not do it properly when he had had the chance. Too proud of himself and too desperate for the real thing to only now, two months later, ask Mephisto to use magic to become Stephen. Maybe if he had done that earlier, he could have solved this problem. Could have just closed his eyes, pretended it was the real thing, and get on with it.

He couldn’t do that now.

He knew what the real thing was.

As the pressure built, and Mephisto began to gasp and groan so beautifully, as Mordo felt the pressure in his groin spread to his gut, a hollow electricity spark in his veins, Mordo thought about how if he had had another chance with Stephen - provided Stephen wasn’t under the influence of a love charm - then he wouldn’t want to fuck his brains out. Not really.

Well, maybe some other time.

What he wanted was Stephen curled around him, legs wrapped around his hips, hand resting on his shoulders, gentle thrusts and gently moans of two people coming together. To hold each other and cum with each other’s name on their lips. Maybe even snuggle once they were done.

Yeah, Mordo dimly thought as Mephisto began to rock fast enough that he was able to hear the squish of lube and the slap of skin against skin, that sounded perfect.

Mephisto rocked back, clenching down hard enough that Mordo screwed up his eyes and saw sparks flash behind his eyelids, he opened his mouth and tried to breathe, but his breath stuttered and faltered and all that came out were little gasps and whines.

He gave one final, pathetic lift of his hips, and then he was coming, spilling into that tight heat, gasping as he rode through it.

A few seconds later, Mephisto was whimpering as he cummed, white splattering his stomach, slumping down onto Mordo in a sweaty mess.

His skin was cold against Mordo’s own, sweaty, skin, and it made the hair on Mordo’s arms stand up. He was jerked out of that daydream of a better time with Stephen and jolted back into reality. This wasn’t Stephen.

As Mephisto’s breathing began to slow down, Mordo felt a queasiness begin to spread in his gut, his heart beat beginning to speed up uncomfortably, hammering in a dull, unfamiliar pace.

Mephisto sighed above, content as a cat and began to ease himself off him. As he did, his skin began to ripple, swirling in almost marble-like patterns, as the magic began to flicker and flare out of place - his current form taking place over Stephen’s.

He knew now that Mephisto was going to want a payment for this. Nobody got anything for free from a demon, and especially not something as specific as this.

At this point in time, Mordo couldn’t find himself able to give a fuck.

He had had a chance with Stephen, and he had been too shy to do what he truly wanted. He was too shy to even go back after him. He knew it would be easy to reconcile with him - all he had to do was go to Stephen and fucking apologise and ask him to forgive and help him. He could have done it today - could have gone up to him in the park and asked him for help.

But Mordo? What had he done?

Gone home, sulked, and then banged a demon that had magicked himself to look like some guy who he’d had a boner for for the past year and a half.

And now he had to pay the price.

But Mordo had already realised that the payment for this wasn’t his soul. It wasn’t even anything remotely physical. It was the knowledge that it had been a farce, that it had just been a demon dressed up in a human costume, and not the man he craved so much. That he had been so desperate for some contact with him, that he had resorted to charms and spells and a demon instead of the real man.

That was humiliation for anyone. For Mordo, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

As soon as Mephisto had slid off him, he had curled onto his side on the bed, facing the wall and curling into himself, drawing his hands up to his chest and find some warmth from himself.

He wanted to weep, to scream out to the universe his pain, this agonising humiliation, this aching misery that burnt inside him, but no sound came out his lips.

He could feel his heart pounding under his skin, an electric current that burnt him inside, too painful to be comfortable, each breath growing shorter, more restricted, his lungs squeezing the life from him with each second.

There was a shuffle next to him, and then Mephisto was reaching out to him, cool fingertips skimming the surface of his shoulders, pooling in the hollows of his spine and collar bone.

It was too much. It was too much too soon and he felt physically sick as he felt flesh sink into flesh, wanted to feel something other than this horrified bewilderment, wanted to rip the skin off his back if it mean he was able to feeling something, feel anything other than this.

Part of him, some desperate, pleading part of him, hoped that he would hear footsteps striding outside the door, and hear the crack of the door as it kicked in, glancing over and seeing Stephen standing in the doorway, red cloak glowing and gold burning a halo around his hands - a burning angel come to save him from his fate. Part of him wanted him to shove Mephisto off him, to hold him close and cradle him, to never let go, to never, ever let go. To take him away to some tiny place where nobody could ever find them, and live out their days like that. To be somewhere, _anywhere_ but this.

But no footsteps came, and no Stephen came, and all that was left was Mephisto curling around his body, and the howling, shattering desperation that followed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on a plane from New Zealand so if it seems rushed, sorry. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on the first two chapters of Desperation. If it weren't for you guys, I definitely wouldn't have gotten around to writing this chapter. 
> 
> Pretty much all my docs have been an angsty mess where neither Stephen or Mordo get to have a happily-ever-after so I'm probably going to have to write a fic where they have a nice time for once. 
> 
> Who else is excited for Infinity War???!!

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't posted anything in ages. Sorry, I've been busy with school. Also, it's another Mephisto Helps Mordo Get Closer To Stephen As He Angsts fic, and I'm sorry but I love Mordo angsting and pining over Stephen, and you can pry that trope from my cold, dead fingers. It DOES get smutty but in the second chapter, so if you're here for the smut you're going to have to wait until then sorry.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos on my last fic. It made me so happy to see them, thank you so very much.  
> I have a tumblr! Come and check me out at turn-and-face-the-paige


End file.
